John slowly rose from his bed as he awoke. His entire cabin was dark and unlit, hiding him in shadow and darkness, just the way he liked it. He made his way to his equipment and dawned his gear. John started with his body armor, then pulled his helmet over his head, before buckling his belt which held his holstered guns and grenades, and finally attached his machete to his back. He moved through the automatic door that led out of his cabin of the Alamo and into the much more lit hallway, his helmet's visor quickly dimming to allow his eyes time to adjust from the previous almost pitch black darkness. Got to admit, the bed is much more comfy than the single mattress back on the Cobra. Might have to take it with me when I leave. Just nine years, eleven months, twenty-nine days, fifteen hours, twenty-eight minutes, and ten seconds until then. The mercenary let out a sigh before continuing his train of thought. This is going to be one long ass contract.

He looked out one of the many windows, this one facing starboard, of the ship and stared into the vast, empty space. All John could see were white dots on a black canvas, but he knew the danger of this almost beautiful scenery. If you're not too careful, it'll swallow you up and never spit you back out. Almost on cue, a dead body floated pass the window, it's uniform belonging to someone from the Xenovian Revolutionary Front. As the body passed away from view, the wreckage of the XRF cruiser that the body belonged to passed by before being followed by more scrapped cruisers and fighters. Damn Imps must have put up a pretty good fight. They've been taking home quite a few victories recently, but my money's on the terrorists this time. Looks like a lot more Imperial cruisers are out in the wreckage than XRF's.

"I need something to drink," the mercenary thought, this time out loud. On John's way to the Alamo's galley, a blinking light appeared on the Heads Up Display of his helmet. With the press of a button on the datapad on his wrist, the light expanded and became several lines of text. Ah, today's assignments. Seems like we got a few. Let's see what we've got.







After finishing reading, John looked at the missions quizzically. All of these contradict one another, we do one and we won't be able to do the other two and we're too small of a group to split up... Oh wait, we're supposed to choose one aren't we? The crew will probably all vote and majority wins. We do whatever mission gets the most votes. Well that's fucking stupid. Who cares what we want? We're weapons, aim us and fire, don't let the weapon choose its target. John just chose a random mission and went back to making himself a cup of coffee, so he could drink it in peace as he watched the dead ships and bodies surreally float past the nearby window.

Day and night really don't really matter when one is in space. Regardless, Deraen-Losthil-Oray's internal clock kept him on a fairly regular sleep schedule. When he did sleep, it wasn't for more than a few hours. In the back of his mind he knew it wasn't enough, although he had gotten into the habit of consuming the human-made caffeinated substance called coffee which seemed to counteract his lack of sleep. As it was, he'd already been awake for some time when John Mason emerged from his quarters. Deraen had been on the bridge sifting through data streams when the assignments from Starfire popped up on the screen he was using in rapid succession. He read each of them quickly, rejecting the guard duty mission right away. The choice between the siege and escort were a toss up. On the one hand, taking the fortress could have a huge political impact, but if the Babylon IV's Oppenheimium cargo was lost, it would be a serious blow to economic stability. As something of a businessperson himself, Deraen thought the wisest course of action would be to escort Babylon to a safe port. He entered his vote for the escort mission into the computer. If the rest of the crew decided on a different course of action he wouldn't complain, as long as he got paid fairly for whatever job he performed. Even though his choice was obviously the best.

Logging out of the system, the Andalite decided to seek out John Mason, whom he believed was likeminded to him and would probably agree on his choice of assignment. On his way, Deraen paid a visit to his quarters to outfit himself for whatever the day might bring. He put on the X-shaped harness/holster, equipping it with a handheld shredder gun and a Beretta 92FS. The Beretta was a little heavy for his delicate hands but the fact that it was a projectile weapon with exceptionally accurate aim was appealing to him. He supposed if there was one good thing about humans constantly fighting one another, it was that they developed some very effective weapons. He added a few particle-disturbance grenades. In addition he belted on a pair of small saddle-bag like pouches that were already packed with various items that might be useful in the event of an emergency. Deraen did not anticipate they would have to deal with a close-combat situation but it was better to be prepared.

Thusly armed, he found John Mason in the galley. It never failed that when searching out a human, one should always go to its food source. They were highly predictable creatures in that way. John was standing near a viewing window, and while Deraen kept his face turned toward the man he rotated one stalk eye to see what he was gazing at out in space. The bodies and debris floating past were no surprise to the Andalite and the scene did not impact him emotionally. How could it? They were not his people and it was not his war they were fighting, and he was barely a hired soldier.

<John Mason.> he said, projecting his voice into the other's mind, <Have you read Starfire's assignments yet? There are three total, the second is the most noteworthy in my opinion.> The way he said--er, thought "my opinion" suggested that to have a different opinion would mean the dissenter was stupid. <Protecting a shipment of Oppenheimium ore would have a much longer positive impact whereas the fortress on Teta would merely be a shift in political power; those happen all the time and there's no guarantee any lasting effects might be good. From a value perspective, both missions will yield similar gain to us.> Deraen's unearthly green eyes shifted from John to the window whilst his stalk eyes surveyed the rest of the galley behind him. Having finished explaining his position to John, it was as if he were no longer interested in the human, though he did listen just in case he decided to speak up. His thoughts were strategizing the best methods for escorting a trade ship through hostile space.

Johanna stared at her datapad, sitting in a secluded booth in the ship's galley. She looked over the choices of assignments as she did so. The guard duty seemed like the safest mission, but at the same time the payout was low. The siege mission seemed like suicide in her mind, even if there was a bonus you had to survive the mission to make it worth the effort. In her mind the second mission, escorting the Yamikov-Fujikawa transport ship seemed like a decent choice as well, though the lack of a bonus made her frown.

In her mind, guarding the lab would be the safest bet, minimizing risks to life and limb always seemed like the wisest course. Escorting the transport had more danger, but it stood to pay out better. The siege mission was out of the question, suicide missions were never worth it.

With a sigh she put her datapad on the table, she took a sip of her coffee and sat their in relative silence. So far no one had asked her about her...mutations. She didn't like the attention her appearance brought her, the staring and gawking was just unbearable.

Jaydaar groaned as he woke, lifting his head up off the table he was sitting at in the hanger. Feeling a bit stiff he stood up and stretched for a minute before turning back to the table, looking over the various pieces of scrap tech and components. He picked up a datapad tablet from the table and turned back around. His area in the hanger doubled as a sort of workstation, with several tables with various pieces of tech scattered all over them, a small area where jay kept a few weapons most of which were disassembled, and of course his ship was nearby. He walked over to one of the tables and tapped on the datapad, a few schematics and random notes flashed across it before Jay noticed a notification flashing up in the corner, tapping it brought up its message which was a set of missions for the day, he leaned on the wall as he read them and tapped the escort mission marking that as his choice but he was fine with whichever they ended up doing. He set the tablet down after that and decided to go find something to eat. He picked up his pistol and slipped it onto that sash he wore as a belt and set out toward the ship's galley.

John's helmet was pulled slightly off so that he could drink his coffee but still cover the majority of his face. He stood there in silence, just watching the aftermath of the XRF's successful blockade run, until he heard a strange voice in his head. John could never imagine himself getting used to the feeling of an Andalite using it's thought-speak to talk to him. Even if it wasn't actual telepathy or mind-reading, it was still unnerving. "I chose at random. I don't care what job we do, as long as Starfire isn't harassing me than I'll do whatever they need. Last thing I need is some bounty hunter getting in my way while dealing with a contract," he said aloud to Deraen-Losthil-Oray. The whole idea of trying to talk to something through his head was still foreign to him and he preferred replying like a normal person. Even John had to admit though that it did sound useful, not only did it get rid of the language barrier, but it would also make the idea of someone hacking communications in the field completely inconceivable.

"No matter which mission we do, one thing's for sure," the mercenary said after finishing off the coffee in his cup and turning back towards the galley. "I'm going to need a lot more coffee if I want to stay awake." John approached the coffee machine again and pressed the button to fill another cup, but this time only a few drops made it in before the whole thing sputtered and died. "God damn, mass produced crap. Was working a minute ago." He slammed his fist on the top of it to see if that would get the machine to get back up and running, but to no avail. The merc turned toward the nearest person he saw, Johanna, and spoke to her, "Hey you..." He still hadn't learned everyone's names from the couple days he had joined Raptor Squad and struggled to remember. "... Cat-girl. You wouldn't happen to know how to fix a broken coffee maker, would you?"

"It's...it's Johanna..." She muttered quietly, becoming self conscious. She knew that hoping that no one would notice her was just wishful thinking. Luckily all this guy wanted was to know how fix the coffee maker, which as luck would have it, she knew how to do. If she helped him he'd probably leave her alone, hopefully.

"Shaking it a bit seems to work...but don't do it too fast..." At least that's what had worked for her earlier that morning. If that didn't fix it well, it would probably make sense to just get a new coffee maker.

After hearing Johanna's suggestion of shaking it, John turned back to the coffee maker and looked at it with a raised eyebrow. Worth a shot I suppose. After turning off the power first, he picked up the infernal contraption and began to shake it softly like he was told. The mercenary probably shook it a little too hard, but when he placed back on the counter, placed his cup underneath it, and turned it back on, the hot beverage he was looking for flowed as easily as it should. John couldn't help but smile as he brought the steaming drink to his mouth.

"Thanks, he said as he took a seat at one of the many tables. John sat in silence for a few minutes, doing nothing but drinking, before turning back toward Johanna. "Word of advice, if you care about which of those contracts will be our next mission, I'd suggest choosing soon. You wait too long and you might end up getting stuck with the one you don't want. Wouldn't want you getting ventilated by an Imperial machine gun turret or have some moral dilemma from working with gangsters now would we?" He looked down at his mug and eyed it with spite. Whoever we end up working for today, I hope they have some better coffee. This stuff's way to weak and I'm so tired I could probably sleep through that soon-to-be siege.

Valian grunted awake as he heard the sound alerting him to the arrival of today's contracts. He had, flight suit adorned, gotten up early to perform some regular maintenence on the Starbolt. While he hadn't invested much effort into his ship's name, he cared deeply about the actual physical ship. Once he's finished said maintenence, he'd decided to lounge in his ship's cabin before getting some breakfast, but promptly fell asleep instead.

Once he was properly awake, be pressed a button on his cyberneric arm. and pulled the contacts up in his vision. After a moment's thought, be selected the second one. There would be certain danger, but he was, by his estimation, one of Stardire's best pilots. While there was definitely bias in his oppinion, fourteen years on the job had made him an undeniably skilled pilot. What's more, he wasn't much for gunplay, so the first option didn't look like a good idea. And he would prefer to get more pay than the third option offered, which would also require gunplay if things turned violent.

Valian stomach chose this email instant to growl. So he made his way towards the galley. On his arrival, he found some of his squadmates already there.

"Hello, everyone! How was everyone's awakening?" It was clear from his speech that he was sickeningly awake, accounting for his imprmptu nap in his ship's cabin.

Regeneration Cycle complete. All systems functioning within acceptable perimeters. Biological and Technological component sync complete.

Eight opened his eyes as the on board computer of the Aurora terminated his regeneration cycle. Because of his accident on the Pegasus station, the accident that had fused his higher brain functions with that of a computer and several of his limbs with cybernetic implants Eight no longer required sleep as it was thought of by most humanoid life. Instead Eight had constructed a special alcove on his ship which when activated put his body into a form of stasis while the computer realigned his implants with his organics.

He could go up to seventy two hours without it but to maintain peak efficiency he needed to regenerate for six hours every twenty four. His cycle complete Eight disabled his alcove on the Aurora. He did of course have his own Starfire quarters on the ship but given that he would have to build another of these chambers inside for it to be any use to him at all the quarters remained vacant.

Eight opened the doors from his craft's sickbay to the main bridge, which was in fact a small room with two chairs in front of piloting consoles that controlled the various systems of the ship. Behind the two consoles was a sealed tube big enough for one person to stand in. Because of Eight's unique cyborg physiology he could use this chamber to interact directly with the ships computer and use his own brain as the flight systems. However that was for long voyages or confrontations in which the ships computer could not adequately compensate for variables that Eight's brain could calculate.

At the moment the cyborg was simply running routine diagnostic and maintenance on his systems. The Aurora was a sleek black ship and one of a kind. When Eight had first started on her the Aurora had been the wreck of a long range tactical bomber. While it still bore definite resemblance to the original model almost all the systems had been rebuilt from scratch by Eight with whatever he could get his hands on. As a result the Aurora was completely unique in the galaxy.

Satisfied that his ship was running at peak efficiency. Eight was preparing to leave when a notice appeared on his console screen alerting him to the fact that Starfire had three new contracts that were being tasked out to this unit. Eight had no feelings one way or another about the contracts themselves however the probability of success, the compensation expected and the likely hood of casualties indicated that protecting the Babylon IV would grant the crew the highest monetary gain for the lowest risk assuming no anomalous components made themselves known.

Eight left the ship after presenting that as his preferred assignment. The contracts themselves also meant very little to Eight, the money was useful of course but the real reason Eight was here was to make use of Starfire's vast influence and resources, there was someone in the galaxy waiting for him. He just needed to find her.

Eight sealed the Aurora and scrambled the entrance command with a intuitive resequencer so that it could only be opened either by his biomechanical signature or a very skilled hacker. Eight didn't trust anyone, and so kept anything of value out of reach of anyone else.

Eight was always awake early because he only required six hours of regeneration compared to the rest of the crew's more demanding sleep schedules. Despite the early hour a good portion of the crew seemed to already be awake and inhabiting the ship's galley. Because Eight required nutritional supplements to maintain his organic systems this was where he was required to go.

When Eight opened the door several heads glanced in his direction and then quickly away. Eight had always got the impression that he unnerved the rest of the crew. Perhaps it was the precise way he spoke or the remains of the ocular implant curved around his eye socket and diode embedded next to his right ear. It may even have been that of most of the crew he was one of the few that didn't wear any sort of protective armaments. Whatever it was it wasn't important to Eight.

He crossed the room to a food station. A scan of the coffee machine by Eight's ocular implant revealed that several of the regulator coils in the back were out of sync. Eight had fixed this problem twice in the last week. The logical conclusion would be to have the device either replaced or rebuilt. Eight turned to the food replicator the station was equipped with. Eight had design schematics for luxury cruisers that had replicators which were capable of creating the most exotic dishes in the known galaxy. This was not one of those replicators. The more complex the meal created the more power the replicator required and the more precisely it had to be designed. This unit appeared to be cobbled together from spare parts and as a result only produced the most basic food supplements. It could do gruel and some simple food in the a pinch but Eight wasn't interested in that.

"Nutritional supplement 46 Beta." He said to the system and it materialized a bowl of small green square objects a quarter of an inch on both sides. They had almost no taste but provided the most efficient form of nutrient assimilation into the body. He'd designed these specific for his physiology.

He took a seat at a table which had another occupant. This didn't bother Eight at all. The one sitting across from him was female, she was on the smaller side with blue hair. Interestingly enough her hair branched up into an extra set of ears. Eight scanned her up and down with his ocular implant. He wasn't exactly an expert on biological lifeforms the same as he was with machines so most of the data he receive made no sense to him. He deleted a good portion of it deeming it unnecessary, only retaining an imagine of her appearance for the sake of recognizing her and a note of the evident differences between her and other humans he'd come into contact with.

When his scan was complete he looked at her with unblinking storm grey eyes and said. "You appear to be a form of mutant. Please elaborate."

Johanna gave John a nod, picking up her datapad and looking over the choices again. After about a minute of debating the pros and cons in her mind she finally decided to choose the second option, the escort mission. She figured the mission's rewards were on par with the risk in involved. The siege mission was a suicide attempt and not worth dying for, and the guard mission, well that just wouldn't pay enough to be worth their time, especially if they got into a gunfight.

Johanna thought that maybe not the group slowly assembling around the galley would start having conversation with each other, she liked to listen to other people talk. She didn't mind when other people were around, she just became really uncomfortable when people spoke to her directly, or god forbid being the center of everyone's attention.

She should have know better though, she was cursed with an appearance that automatically drew attention to her, at least from other humans. Other species hardly noticed the difference, but among her own kind she stood out like a sore thumb. It wasn't long before someone decided to sit at the same table as her. She briefly had the urge to get up and find a different table, but she didn't want to be seen as rude. Instead she looked the boy over, immediately noticing he wasn't entirely human himself, he appeared to have some mechanical implants.

The cyborg suddenly spoke, "You appear to be a form of mutant. Please elaborate." It caught her off guard, people usually weren't so blunt or direct about asking why she was different. He spoke with a precision that reminded her of an artificial intelligence. He wasn't like other humans either, he was different. They had that in common at the very least.

She realised she'd simply been gawking at him in silence for the past minute. With a blush she snapped out of her daze, she decided she had no choice but to answer his question, she reasoned it was better to get it over with now then put it off till later, she had a sick feeling though this wouldn't be the last time she'd have to do this.

"Well I...I was kidnapped and experimented on at a research facility that had been hidden inside an asteroid. I woke up in this strange cell, and that's when it began. Whoever they were, they never spoke to me, or revealed themselves. I don't think I was worthy of their attention...they simply began the...experiments." She couldn't help but shudder.

"I was unconscious for a lot of it. But sometimes when I was awake these mechanical arms would come down and inject me with strange substances, they made me feel sick. Sometimes they'd gas the room too. After what I think was weeks I sort of got used to it. Whatever they were doing...it made me stronger, faster...they were enhancing me for some unknown purpose. After a while the more...obvious changes appeared." She gestured to her ears and tail.

"My hair and eyes changed as well, but I didn't notice those as easily. Whatever they did it changed me down to my DNA. I-I'm not really sure I can even be considered human anymore, at least not entirely...it's like they wanted to create a new...species." She looked down at her coffee mug. "Starfire raided the research facility and rescued me and some others who were held there, and that's how I ended up here more or less." She took a long sip of her coffee, she needed to calm her nerves.

Space, the void between worlds.
The ancients may have foresaw this very age.
Where the planes were brought together.
The cosmos united as one world.
And there they would divide up the heavens.
Casting lots and waging wars.
The Skies, Seas and Underground.

Just outside of the cabin, past the precipice of metal and technology, was infinity. A view into the depths of the universe, onwards to the ends of visibility as far as the light could reach. Looking into the past as you journey into the future, a strange paradox, but the FTL drives had made the universe a much smaller place as the distant galaxies were suddenly neighbors. Beings suddenly awakened from their fugue state, contact made, species eradicated and information exchanged. Evolution took them far enough to becoming the dominant species on their own planets, now Revolutions shall see which alien race will control the universe. But certainly not these. For just outside the view of eternity, the bodies floated amongst the wreckage. Neither as countless as the stars, nor as a beautiful, but in the same swallowing void all the same. There they drifted past, cold and lifeless, expended.

In stark contrast to the grim and somber tragic waste of life, there was another which died upon this very vessel and caused great upheavals. The Coffee machine. To which someone was cursing at it and tinkering with it to produce some black liquid of some nutritional value for these organics. Was this black fluid so important to them? Could they not function without it? Such strange creatures who consume not what they need to survive, but need to perform. But who was Cy to judge them, he was made with everything he required to survive, an electrical yolk which would be consumed every moment of his existence. And when it was no more, he too would return to the universe and become like these organics nothing more than a victim of the void. One day this crew would join those floating outside, but today the coffee machine shall join them first, jettisoned in the lock as rubbish.

Looking around, they were an odd bunch. A human, an alien, and more humans or rather perhaps mostly humans. One asked of how the rest of them fared in these early moments, seemingly just woken from a deep slumber. Yet again Cy had no responses for this as the Valis do not sleep, nor eat, nor reproduce. Lacking a true biology, the physical needs for the cosmic energy being was simple: Energy. To infuse his core with additional electricity was to extend his existence from which he has maintained a stable working agreement with the Company. The extreme amounts of energy required to survive another hundred cycles was ludicrous and as such mercenary work footed the bill and kept the lights on at home. Both figuratively and literally.

Speaking of which, the assignments made their announcements known as the Valis continued to watch the organics in their affairs. He had gone unnoticed so far, sitting alone at the table, watching the celestial bodies move. A silent sentry who spoke as little as four words every few hours of the day. Actions however, spoke louder than words, and as such, Cy cast his vote for the second mission.

John looked around the galley as more and more people arrived and made their presences known. Great. People. I hate people. Nine times out of ten, they start shooting at you as soon as they've got the chance. And I can't shoot these guys because I'm supposed to be working with them. When one of his new cyborg compatriots walked into the room to greet everyone, the mercenary replied with a short groan, acknowledging Valian's question but not putting in the effort to give a real response, which in itself sort of answered the question.

Having nothing else to do, John took a look at the datapad on his wrist to see if there had been a decision on which mission the team would do. He was a bit surprised at the outcome. Out of the nine people on the ship, seven had voted for the same mission. The one I picked at random must have been the escort mission as well. Two more people have yet to vote, but it doesn't really matter what they pick now does it? He took another sip from his coffee, only to find that he had finished it on his last sip. Just the start to another bad day. Escort missions always suck. At least Yamikov-Fujikawa ships are never armed, we don't want some gung-ho captain trying to help, only to get himself killed instead. The mercenary checked his datapad one last time to see what they're estimated time of arrival would be. One hour before we reach orbit, huh? Great, plenty of time for someone to try and annoy me further.

Deraen watched John's interaction with the coffee-producing machine quizzically. Why the human would think utilizing force on an automated machine would solve a performance issue he could not begin to guess. He supposed it had to do with their violent nature. When the machine had been returned after he shook it, the Andalite stepped forward to examine it. John hadn't done a good job of putting it back exactly in place, so Deraen pulled it out enough to peer at the wires and tubes in the back. The problem quickly became apparent, the liquid infuser seemed to be leaking. All the shaking and abuse had jarred the bolt loose and there was a puddle on the steel bench indicating that it had been a persisting malfunction for quite some time.

Deraen reached into his left pouch and withdrew a magnetic wand which functioned as both a wrench and screwdriver, and used it to tighten the bolt. Just like that, the problem was fixed. He didn't worry about the puddle, since it would eventually turn to vapor then be absorbed by the ship's life support system and recycled. <This crude machine may yet last another year,> he said to no one in particular. As he'd worked he noticed others appearing in the room. He checked the status of their assignment on the personal screen communicator which was wirelessly connected to the ship's computer. Unsurprisingly, almost all the other crew members had selected the same mission Deraen had.

<It seems we're going to be joining the Babylon IV.> As he spoke, the cyborg Valian appeared and greeted them all. <I awoke without any trouble,> Deraen said in answer to his query, slightly confused. <Does your species have difficulty when waking?> He tried to imagine what such an experience would be like and to be completely honest the idea of not being able to open one's eyes after sleep with a clear and alert mind was rather horrifying.

His hooves clicked on the galley's cold metal floor as he turned, surveying each individual present. There was John Mason, of course, and the petite girl Johanna Hawkins. Stephen Walker, whose appearance and speech suggested he might be disabled in some way. Deraen was unsure of his background but it was obvious that Stephen relied very heavily on his cybernetic modifications. He thought the same of Valian Forsythe, actually, with his prosthetic limbs and eyes. It was unnerving to look at them, who would otherwise be handicapped. Then there was Cy, whose physiology was a mystery though it was obvious he was alien, and Jaydaar whom he had never spoken with but felt a certain kinship with the reptilian creature being that they were both ethnic deviants. Something about Jaydaar was reassuring in that while he walked on two legs at least he was balanced with a long tail like Deraen did, unlike the humans--except Johanna--who looked like they could tip over at any moment.

"Eh, not really. Not the healthy ones, anyways." Valian wasn't sure if comas really applied to Deraen's question, but that was beside the point. "I was asking more about the quality of the waking. That is to say, depending on a number of factors, wakinhg up isn't always pleasant." He gestured with his hands, as one might when trying to think of certain words, before continuing, "For example—and this might be the same for your people, but I'm not the most knowledgeable when it comes to Andalite physiology—" Valian began crossing over to the food replicator, "but if a human doesn't get enough sleep then," his gaze flickered for an instant towards the man he'd been told went by 'Eight,' "by and large, it makes waking up all sorts of unpleasant. Same deal if the sleep is of poor quality, but I couldn't really tell you why any sleep is better or worse, only when it is."

Just as Valian reached the Food Replicator, a particularly large cluster of mostly-intact corpses floated by the window. He chuckled softly, and said—more to himself then his squad-mates, but they could doubtless hear him if the cared to—"Well, they're sleeping deep, now aren't they." He snagged pair of chicken eggs over fried rice and a cup of coffee—as if he was going to let that hunk of junk give him poison sludge again, And let me tell you what, he thought to himself, it's even worse when you don't have fleshy legs.

Valian turned to walk to a table, and said to everyone, "Just trying to make small talk. We're going to be shooting and getting shot at together for..." placing his dish on the table, he flipped open a panel on his arm, and slid a few documents across his vision, "...however long we're working together, it's probably a good idea to get comfortable with each other. Should be common sense, but well..." he chuckled again, "I've been with Starfire for fifteen years, and some of you'd be surprised how uncommon common sense is in this great big universe of ours."

Jaydaar was barely noticed, having slipped in during the commotion with the coffee machine, as he grabbed a steak, a human food he'd acquired a taste for and was glad this ship had, and took a seat. His tail softly swayed behind him as he ate, snapping off pieces of meat with his powerful jaws as he watched the others quietly. He pulled out a smaller datapad he usually kept in the end of his sash and checked the missions again with it to see which one the crew voted on, and it appeared the escort mission was favored, He put the pad away and returned to what he was eating, finishing off the piece of meat quickly. He then just waited for their departure for the mission, he had no intention of initiating a conversation with one of the other crew, more just...watching their interaction, people-watching.

Bruce woke from his sleep feeling more rested than usual. Not too unusual considering he was used to sleeping on his, admittedly cramped, starship, but something still felt off. He moved to check his nearby datapad and immediately two things stood out to him: The notification in the corner and the time. The notification was likely some mission or something, it could wait, because the time was about 45 minutes later than it should have been when he woke up.

One word was going through Bruce's mind, albeit many, many times, as he dressed himself appropriately enough for breakfast: crap. With that taken care of, he jogged out the door and towards the mess hall. Once he arrived, he felt a wave of relief fall over him, for multiple reasons. Not only were people still getting settled, for the most part, but there were other people!

As he hadn't been awake for very long, Bruce decided to skip any food and instead just grabbed a glass of juice and sat down at the nearest table with the most people at it (though not by much). Down the table sat a young man with a cybernetic eye and remarkably pale skin. He was looking across at girl with a smaller frame and some mutations who looked quite uncomfortable. He couldn't get a solid read beyond the obvious on either of them.

As he settled in, he remembered the notification from earlier and decided to check it. Three missions available for the whole team to vote on. A siege, an escort, and a defense. He could also see the votes for each mission, though not specifically. Escort mission, huh? Not my first choice, but hey, what're you gonna do? He put the datapad away and turned his attention back to the two others at the table.

"Good morning!" he said heartily, "Have I missed anything important?"

Eight watched with unblinking eyes as the girl across from him starred. Finally she began to answer his question. While her explanation was devoid of any technical information Eight might have found helpful it was may prove useful. Eight stored the story away. No doubt Five would have found the story more interesting, biological specimens where part of her database not his.

A man entered the room greeting everyone in a needlessly loud manor. Eight's visual modifications revealed that this man was also part machine. He sported a Class-12 Neural-Motive Prosthetic Arm, Class-9 Neural-Motive Prosthetic Legs, and Class-23 Neural-Sensory Prosthetic Eyes. It was impressive equipment but had several chronic defects the most notable of which was while they responded to neural commands the limbs contained less strength compared to there organic counter parts. Eight sighed.

Not long after another man sat down at there table. The man wore encompassing armor that inhibited Eight's ability to get an accurate reading through his ocular implant. The armor itself was high end, comprised of quality components though it matched nothing in Eight's database. Curious Eight looked him up and down but this yielded no further information.

With no other means available to him Eight decided a verbal exchange was the most efficient means available. "What is your designation?" He asked the armored man. Then he turned back to the girl. "I have failed acquire your designation as well. Please provide it."

Krull had been awake for at least four hours now cleaning up his latest mess, a Quillback Boar. He had caught the creature in his free time a while back and it had now been fattened up enough to butcher. Not much was wasted or thrown away, only the skull, spine, and hooves for personal taste. The ribs were left alone while most of everything else was ground up, seasoned, and turned into sausages, even the blood. If it was one thing other than cannons these spacefarers had invented, herbs and spices were among the greatest. In the end Krull had harvested a little over thirty pounds of meat, all stocked inside his room.

To avoid any annoying confrontations, especially from that horse creature, Krull activated the sanitation bots that were so generously "gifted" to him soon after his living habits became known to the crew. Adjusting to life outside Galor had been a trying experience, these aliens were just so alien in a lot of respects. An example being the odd looks he got when he licked the blood off his blade or when he ate the human who really didn't want him on The Alamo, Anthony was it? Not important, they were just going to vent his corpse when the flesh was just as good as anything else around here. Either way Krull had found it easier to just roll with the cultural punches as it were, they could be as nonsensical as they wanted. With that the little robots finished scrubbing the blood off of him and began giving his room the same treatment, Krull himself holstering the cleaver and left towards the galley with tablet in hand.

Neat devices these tablets were, infinite amounts of information with a swipe of the claw. It was with this device he had learned of the different ways to prepare meats, like the sausages. With food in mind he turned around and returned to his room, grabbing a bone before cracking it in half easily with a single crunch. He always did like marrow. Returning to his original destination, Krull looked through the missions with a spark of excitment. The siege reminded him of home, how the weaker tribes would hide in their caves while he and his fellow warriors stormed their entrances. It was the only real option, with a press of a button it was done and Krull found himself in the galley. May others were already awake and instead of joining in on any conversations, Krull just found the nearest corner and sat there, idly chewing on the bone trapped between his jaws.

Johanna was more than relieved to have finished her explanation to the cyborg, however that relief was short lived, as yet another person sat down at their table. She sighed, as if accepting defeat, she just wasn't going to get her peace and quiet before the mission it was as simple as that. It took every fiber of her being not to show just how nervous she really was. She swore she'd never been this timid before the experiments on her body. Sure, she'd always been a bit of an introvert, but now she was...jumpy, as if she wanted to flee for her life. In fact she would have loved nothing more than to slip away and find a new table that was empty. The only problem was she too nervous to leave her seat, so she sat there, a bit rigid as she picked up her datapad and stared at it, if she focused on the datapad and pretended they weren't there she felt better.

The armored man greeted both her and the cyborg boy, asking if he'd missed anything important. Johanna shook her head, and tried to go back to looking at her datapad, hoping that would discourage them from speaking to her. Of course it was then that the cyborg asked for the other man's 'designation' and in turn asked for her's as well. She bit her lip, there was no reason not to tell them, they were going to be working together. Still it took her a moment to gather the courage to do so. Speaking one on one was hard enough, but now with the three of them they'd become a group, she didn't do well in group conversations.

"I'm...Johanna...Johanna Hawkins." She stuttered.

The Alamo was surrounded by flames as it hit Teta's atmosphere, its heat shields holding up effortlessly against the reentry temperature of 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit. Those inside would have barely noticed the difference as they exited the vacuum of space thanks to the advancements of technology over the past several centuries. The Alamo touched down on one of the many landing pads inside the towering walls of the Imperial fortress, gathering the attention of a few nearby engineers and officers. John was the first to step off the ramp that had lowered from the bottom of the hull. "You rang," he said, looking at the most important looking man nearby.

"You with Starfire?" the man asked, the insignia on his uniform showing his rank as colonel. The only response he got from John was a short nod. "Alright then, follow the warrant officer here. He'll take you to the Babylon," he responded, signaling toward another nearby Imperial officer. The warrant officer saluted toward the colonel before turning and leading whoever from Raptor Squad wanted to follow to their contractors.

As the group approached the familiar site of a Yamikov-Fujikawa transport ship, the team's escort stopped and pointed. "The captain is right over there, speak to him for further details," he explained before leaving to take care of other duties, most likely defensive preparations for the incoming XRF forces. The Babylon IV's captain looked like any other civilian you'd pass on the street, completely unremarkable in any way, shape, or form. However, it was quite obvious that the man was extremely agitated. An incoming, large-scale attack will usually do that to a person.

"H-hello, I'm Captain Garret Dewitt. Are you the mercenaries hired to protect us?" he asked timidly.

"Sure are. Is all the cargo aboard? We ready for take-off?" John replied.

"Y-yeah, we're all set. Just wai-" he began, before the sound of a large explosion drowned him out. The XRF's siege had begun. Captain Dewitt ran for his life toward the open ramp that led up to Babylon IV.

Meanwhile, John, completely unfazed by the sounds of battle, turned towards the rest of Raptor Squad. "I suggest at least three people join him to protect the Babylon from boarders. Everyone else head back to the Alamo before one of those mortar shells gets us or the ship. Let's move it people!" he ordered before sprinting back the way they came.